Dark Apostle Potter
by chaoswarboss0201
Summary: What if Harry was not raised by the Dursley? What if he grew up with another father figure that teach him the Truth of the universe? What if the Chaos Gods give Eliphas the Inheritor another chance after his failures in Aurelia? How long can the wizarding world stands before the might of a new Dark Apostle.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Brothers and Sisters. This story is another plot bunny that refused to leave me alone unless I commit it to paper. It is an antithesis of sort to Battle Brother Potter and I will try my best to update all my stories at a reasonable pace.**

**Now enjoy and tell me what you think.  
**

Dark Apostle Potter

Prologue

Basilica of Torment, Sicarius, Eye of Terror

It always hurts to be in the Basilica of Torment. The one within, those who are punished by failure to the Legion and Chaos, face eternal torment by daemons of the Warp, where their souls are flayed apart slowly, excruciate them on a spiritual as well as a physical and mental level, only to be recombine crudely, abruptly so that the process can begin anew. For those who are consigned to this hellish construct multiple times, the torment from the previous stays are repeated with greater intensity and viciousness. On the Daemon World of Sicarius, home to the Word Bearer Legion of Chaos Space Marine, multiple failures to the Primordial Truth is not punished by death, but much, much worse.

"Wake up! Eliphas! Wake up, my Brother!" The voice was smooth and resonant. Its owner, however, is a giant being, with a face scarred by millennia of holy war against the enemy of Chaos. He is clad in an ornate suit of terminator armor, an ancestral suit that is passed down from its previous owner to him, from one Dark Apostle to another.

The prisoner opened his eyes to look upon the Dark Apostle, his brother, and smiled.

"Marduk. How nice of you to come and see me. Why so early this time?" Eliphas the Inheritor, former Dark Apostle of the 48th Host of the Word Bearer legion, asked casually. His arms flexing idly against the warp chains that is hanging him. Oh how he long to get out of this place, where he can resume his service to the Primordial Truth.

"Order from lord Erebus himself. He needs to see you." Marduk answered.

"If lord Erebus is so intent on seeing me, why not come down here himself? " Eliphas jeered.

"Watch your tongue, Eliphas! Just because you are my blood brother does not mean that I won't punish you. You are coming, whether you want it or not." Marduk replied. With a wave of his gauntleted hand, the spectral barrier of the cell lowered along with the chains holding Eliphas.

"No chain?" Eliphas asked as he followed Marduk.

"No, not the ones you can see." Marduk replied. Two hulking terminator appeared, flanking both of them as they exit the cell block. Eliphas recognized them as members of the cult of the Anointed, Marduk's Elite Terminator Unit. Each a warrior without peers, wearing massive Tactical Dreadnought Armor, each sport a chainfist and storm bolter, all pointed at Eliphas' back.

After a long walk, they arrived at an old, run down temple, one amongst billions that is built and destroyed daily on the Daemon World of Sicarius. Marduk pointed Eliphas at the entrance, a crumbling doorway leading to the darkness of the temple's interior.

"Go in, brother. Lord Erebus awaits you inside." Marduk gestured towards the door. Eliphas entered, his steps firm and sure for someone who just got out of the Basilica of Torment.

The temple's interior is pitch black, enshrouded in a darkness that even his enhanced senses as an Astartes is unable to help him navigate. Instead, Eliphas relied on his faith alone to guide him forward, further into the darkness.

Suddenly, a large psychic pressure assail the former Dark Apostle in droves, pressing on him on all sides. Eliphas braced himself, using his senses to locate the source of the assault. Then, four pillars of light pierced through the darkness , around Eliphas, each a different colors, Blue, Red, Green and Pink. As Eliphas looked up, he can now see that four dais had appeared in the middle of each light pillar. On each dais stood a figure, all looking at him.

"Inheritor." The voice in front of him intoned, his voice a mixture of a thousand other voices. "You have failed us. Yet again." Eliphas looked up to see an avian face leering at him, its beak razor sharp, and its eyes blazing with sorcerous light. It was garbed in a long, flowing wizard robes and holding a bird-head staff.

"BY ALL RIGHT WE SHOULD JUST LEFT YOUR PITIFUL SOUL TO BE TORMENTED FOR ETERNITY!" came the voice on Eliphas' right, a booming bellow of extreme aggression. Its owner is a bull-headed being clad in bloody brass armor, hefting an immense battle-axe. Its armor is decorated with skull of various shapes and sizes, from human to various species of xenos.

"But an opportunity arise that may yet redeem you, my son." came the gurgle from the fallen warrior-priest's left. The bloated, decaying owner of the gurgle is sickly pale, with mucus and pus leaking from all over its body. While horrific to behold, this figure seems almost fatherly in appearance and demeanor.

"But do not be complacent, Eliphas-dear. If you fail again, your reward will be most … exquisite." Giggled the voice from behind Eliphas. The former Dark Apostle turned around, facing an androgynous figure in bright pink armor with colorful, garish decoration adorned in every aspect of his war-plate. The sheer silhouette of this being would drive lesser beings mad with desire with one look. However, Eliphas' mind was made of much stronger stuff than that.

After all four figures have made their presence known to the former Dark apostle, Eliphas kneeled down, his voice awed and eager.

"My divine masters, please give me this opportunity to redeem myself of my past failures, tell me of this mission that you would have me complete."

"Very well." The bird-like sorcerer intoned. "Tell me, Inheritor, do you believe there is other universe beside this wretched one?"

"Forgive my ignorance, my lords, but I am not aware there is such things as another universe." Eliphas replied, genuinely surprised that the Chaos Gods themselves have decided to share this knowledge with a disgraced servant like him.

"Do not presume this to be a sign of trust, disgraced one." The androgynous being snapped. "We only tell you this because you need to know it for your mission. As I say before, fail and you would be wishing for the Basilica instead of what we have in store for you."

"Yes, my lords."

"The warp, in all of its glory, is a vast hub of passageways. Always changing, always intertwined. Mortals think of it as a shortcut to move across their cosmos." The bloated one gurlgled, its voice fatherly and patient, like a parents explaining basic facts of the world to a toddler.

"BUT HOW LITTLE THEY KNOW! IT IS ALSO A HUB FOR DIFFERENT UNIVERSES TO MEET!" the brass-armored warlord boomed.

"These universes, however, are not yet opened their eyes to the Primordial Truth, our truth." Continued the bird-like sorcerer. "Your mission, should you choose to accept it, Is to train the First Apostle of one such world and prepare him to be the one who will spearhead the spread of our faith in that universe."

"How will I find this Apostle, my divine masters?" Eliphas asked, head still bowed.

"Oh, we have already find the little one." The androgynous being said with a giggle. "You just have to take him and train him." As he said, an image flashed up in front of Eliphas, not unlike an elaborate hololithic projector. He sees a series of houses, each identical to one another, giving it an awfully quaint and monotonous looks. The vision then focuses itself into the front of a house that bears the number 4 on its address plate. There in the front porch, a small basket lays.

"A baby? You want me to take care and train that baby?" Eliphas mentally yelled.

"As a matter of fact. Yes, yes we do." The sorcerer quipped.

"You are going to be a very good father to him, we just know it." The bloated one said affably, its large mouth opened up into a wide, toothy grin, with drools and pus leaking out copiously.

"Please, let this be a cruel jest." Eliphas pleaded as his predicament became clear. "I am a Dark Apostle, a preacher of the Primordial Faith; I can turn planets and systems against the Imperium and into our folds. Please do not make me a nursemaid to a baby! " the fallen warrior –priest pleaded.

"YOUR RESUME IS IMPRESSIVE INDEED, INHERITOR! THAT IS EXACTLY WHY WE WANT YOU FOR THIS MISSION." The brass-armored one bellowed.

"He will need an army, a host of his own." The bird-like one continued"And we will help him build one. But teaching him to command it will be your job, Eliphas. Do this right and your rewards would be great, inheritor."

"Do you accept?" All four then asked.

Eliphas looked up and smirked.

Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, United Kingdom.

"They can't just dropped this little freak at our house!" Vernon Dursley bellowed at his wife, who is looking at the basket on their front porch with a mixture of fear and disgust.

"They could be watching, Vernon." Petunia Dursley said, hesitating to touch the infant in the basket.

"I will not have this freak of nature foul up our perfectly normal home." Her husband jabbed a finger towards the tiny bundle. "I say we dump him into the nearest landfill. If he die, the other freaks will stop looking right?"

"I don't know, Vernon. He is still my nephew. I don't think…." Petunia's hesitated.

Suddenly, a flash of blood red light caught the couple's attention.

On the pavement in front of number 4 Privet Drive, a tall, broad figure appeared. Dressed in a fine business suit of great quality, the newcomer casually opened the front gate of number 4 and approached the gawking couple.

"It seems that you really want to be rid of this baby." The stranger said. It was a statement, not a question.

"That's none of your bloody business!" Vernon bellowed threateningly.

"Fortunately for you, I can help you with that." The stranger stated, his voice low and sibilant.

"Really?" Petunia asked.

"You are not going to believe this freak are you? I say we do it by ourselves. As for you, leave or I will call the bobby on you." Vernon yelled.

The stranger smirked, his face take on a predatory glint in the early morning gloom.

"Unfortunately for you, I will help you with that, whether you want it or not."

What happened next was done in three heartbeats, unseen, unheard by anybody.

The last thing Vernon Dursley see is the stranger's hand reaching for his face before his head was crushed by a squeeze, showering his wife with gore and brain-matter. Petunia opened her mouth, but before a scream could come out, her head was separated from her body by a neat hand chop. The stranger then picked up the basket containing the baby we was sent to retrieve.

The baby is a boy of a year old, with bright green eyes and jet black hair. Throughout the short bloodbath, he stays quiet despite some blood have stained the blanket covering him. The stranger picked up the letter underneath the tiny blanket.

"Harry Potter? Such an ordinary name. No, that will not do at all. By the will of the Gods, I now rename you Harrogath, my child. A great destiny awaits you, my son." Eliphas the Inheritor said to his new-found son.

Then he heard crying coming from the house. "Oh, the other baby. Might as well." The warrior-priest of Chaos remarked. Still holding the basket, he walked into the house and located the source of the crying, a chubby baby in a colorful crib. Scooping up the second baby, Eliphas' face stretched into a grin.

"You know what? I think my son will need a Coryphaus that he can trust.".

Another flash of blood red light and he was gone, leaving behind two bodies and an empty house.

**A/N:More to comes soon.**


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello my faithful followers. I am still alive, barely but the Pantheon smiled upon me and college ****life has not killed me yet.**

**And thus i give you the first formal chapter of the Dark Apostle.**

**Rest assured that I have not abandoned my fics. Now that it's summer i can find time to write and update at for your reading pleasure.**

**FOR CHAOS!**

* * *

Chapter 1: Homecoming

Cadia, 356 42nd millenium

The Genesis Space Marine's head exploded, a well-placed bolt round lodged itself behind his left eye before exploding. His killer, Dark Acolyte Harrogath of the Word Bearer's 347th Host, Deacon of Chaos Undivided took no notice of the kill and simply charged on cleaving another two Genesis's heads from their shoulder with a flash of his power sword. The Word Bearer had forgone his helmet in combat, revealing a darkly handsome face, with an angular jaw and jet black messy hair. The only blemish on his face is a small scar the shape of a bolt of lightning on his forehead. The Word Bearer charged at a group of Space Marine who is providing covering fire from behind a barricade. He holstered his bolt pistol as he ran and unsheathe his second weapon, a gladius with skull motif worked into its cross guard, before leaping over the barricade and landed heavily, impaling two Genesis marine with his blades before butchering the rest with precise slash that part heads from shoulders and pierced hearts.

"Dark Acolyte! Behind you!" A shout force Harrogath to jump back as a large metal claw smashed into the ground where he was standing. He looked up to come face-to-face with a gigantic silhouette, a warrior so magnificent he fights beyond death.

Dreadnought.

The Dark Acolyte raised both his blade in a cross guard, parrying the next blow from the dreadnought claw but the powerful blow, borne from gigantic servos and adamantium machinery batted both swords away, knocking the Word Bearer back, slamming him to a rockrete wall.

Scrambling up to his feet, Harrogath found himself starring at the targeting sight and barrel of the dreadnought's lascannon, the hum of it powering up for a shot deafening.

"Persistent half-dead bastard!" Harrogath growled. "You will pay for that."

The Dark Acolyte raised his left hand to eye level, palm extended and pointed at the Genesis Dreadnought, muttering incantation under his breath, uttering syllables so arcane and unholy that it would burn the throats of mortals who attempted the same.

The lascannon discharged with a loud whoosh, the light blue beam tore through the air towards the lone Word Bearer, only to stop a few inches from the outstretched arms, as if hitting an invisible barrier. The beam came on unstopping, intending on breaking the barrier but the shield holds. As the light blue las beam dissipated, a dark red beam emerged from palm of the Dark Acolyte and promptly tore cleanly through the dreadnought's thick carapace, skewering the half-dead space marine within before going on and hit an advancing razorback, incinerating it.

With a snap of his finger, Harrogath summoned his blades back to him, the power sword to his hand, the gladius back to its sheath on his thigh. The Dark Acolyte activated the vox link in his ear and reached out to the rest of his host.

"My brothers. Report."

"The Pantheon be Praised, Dark Acolyte! Cadia is almost ours. The Throne slaves have pulled back to their last bulwark around the last clusters of Pylons." The voice of Exalted Champion Daggath rumbled through the vox, amidst the cheer of the warrior of the host.

"I will be joining you shortly, brother." Harrogath said. "What of the Inheritor?" The then asked.

"Lord Eliphas is in a Strategic meeting with the Warmaster." Came Daggath's reluctant reply.

"You know I love my father but I still don't understand why he wastes his time with that armless, brainless idiot and his losers." Harroth sighed. "But don't tell him I said that." He added.

"I know, Dark Acolyte, I know." The Champion replied. "Be quick brother, or me and the Godhand will start without you." Daggath chuckled then cut the link.

Harrogath closed his eyes and reached out with his warp sight, looking for the largest concentration of violence and fighting before making his way towards it. After cresting a hill, the Dark Acolyte was met with the sight of the final stand of the Imperial Force on Cadia.

Their last stand is a series of bulwarks and entrenched position surrounding six giant black stone pylons. From atop the hill, Harroth could see whole Regiments of Cadian Karskin, with armor support in the forms of Leman Russ battle tanks of various types made into turrets, with the supports of Basilisk artillery further behind and Hydra flak tanks to ward off aerial assault. Standing shoulder to shoulder with the Imperial Guards are the Arstartes Praeses, Space Marines from the chapters that is assigned to safeguard the area surrounding the Great Eye form Chaos incursion. The Dark Acolyte could see power armors and heraldry of various color and decoration. White Consul, Night Watch, Marine Exemplar, Excoriator, Angel Eradicant and a contingent of the reborn Black Consul, along with their armored contingent, whatever few rhino or razorback left with perhaps a pair of land raiders. A fine assembly of warrior, the best that the Imperium of Mankind can offer in the face of the Primordial Annihilator and Harroth smiled as he savor the futility of their might against the power of true Faith.

"Dark Acolyte." Daggath greeted Harrogath with a gruff and firm handshake.

"Champion." The Dark Acolyte replied. "How goes the preparation?"

"Despite this being the throne-slaves' last stand, I think we should just use the usual tactics. After preliminary bombardment, let loose the Defilers and Dreadnought along with the cultist first, followed by legionaries with vehicle support. I'm letting the Possesed and raptors free to flank them." The champion answered as the two Word Bearers made their way to the front of the assembling column of the Host. Daggath is huge even for a Chaos Space Marine, at half a head taller than the power-armored Harroth. His own war plate is a scarred mess with daemon bone spikes protruding from shoulder guards and a breastplate deliberately forged to resemble live musculature, the natural crimson color of the Word Bearer only make the armor more lifelike. On either side of his hip, Daggath hung his twin weapon, a ragged-tooth chain-axe and a bulky power mallet, with a snub-nosed bolt pistol holstered snugly atop his hip-plate.

"Good plan, brother. I will bless the Host before we begin." Harrogath replied as he looked over the open space between the two opposing forces to see a band of warrior recklessly charged over the vast expanse to reach the imperial line.

"Hey, is that Kain and his berserkers? What the warp is that idiot doing?" The Dark Acolyte asked incredulously.

"Kain? What are you doing? Pull back now!" Daggath yelled into his vox bead.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULL FOR THE SKULL THRONE!" was all that came back. They both looked on as the band of Khornate warriors were shredded to pieces by concentrated fire from the assembled heavy weapons.

"Never mind. If he loves the Bloodfather that much, then the Bloodfather can have him." Harrogath growled, his fist clenched in annoyance. "Tell the rest of the Host to stay put. Whoever followed them I will send to the Basilica myself."

"They have a void dome." Daggath stated after consulting a data-slate.

"Then get the Dark Mechanicum over here! Tell the cog-heads we need their Ordinati." Harrogath growled, displeasure evident in his voice.

"Right away, my Acolyte." Replies the Champion as he turned to carry out the order, Harrogath following him to the front of the Host.

The crackle of a vox-bead coming alive stopped the two Word Bearers in their track.

"Oh Pantheon, is that who I think it is?" Daggath asked his brother, who began to laugh.

"Yes, get ready the Host. I don't think we'll need those cog-heads help after all."

* * *

Techmarine Kulus of the White Consul touched the void generator gently, whispering the rite of pacification to the generator's machine spirit. With the Ruinous Power's force besieging their bastion, even the normally docile generators is getting anxious. Fortunately, the Astartes Praeses' cadre of techmarines was diligent in placating them, ensuring the void dome and null field completely covered all approach to the bastion.

"Ave Deus Mecha.." Kulus stopped his prayer mid-sentence to turn around, plasma pistol in hand and let loose the miniature sun towards the dark-blue armored Astarte that was sneaking up on him. The other space Marine dived underneath the ball of plasma and swept his leg out, knocking the techmarine off balance before firing his double-barreled bolter at close range. Kulus' servo arm folded in front of his breast plate to provide extra protection, making the barrage of bolter less effective. The White Consul was about to lash out with is power axe when he lost control of his lower body and fall backward. The Traitor Marine had cut off his feet. Looking up from the floor, the last sight the Techmarine had was that of a flashing golden-blade aiming for his neck.

After decapitating the White Consul, the traitor marine unclipped a cylindrical object from his belt and slapped it on the void-shield generator. He then activated his vox-bead before speaking.

"This is Decimus to all Claw. Report."

"Charges set." Came the first reply. Six more followed, echoing the same words.

"Get out of there and wait for the fireworks, brothers." The night lord smirked as he ordered.

"Acknowledged, Prophet."

* * *

Even before the void dome covering the Imperial positions collapsed, the whole might of the 347th Host of the Word Bearer had finished their pre-battle benediction and was marching across the sandy no-man's land to reach the Imperial lines amidst the barrage from heavy weapons and artillery. The Host's own artillery, mostly Whirlwind Artillery tank fresh out of Ghalmek and a few odd Manticore and Basilisk captured from Imperial bases, provide what little cover fire they could. The first few waves of cultist died in swathes under the heavy barrage but powered by the faith and power of Chaos Undivided, the Host marched on undaunted before charging the last kilometer.

Harrogath charged along with his Host, Daggath and the Godhand at his side. The Honor Guard to Lord Eliphas the Inheritor himself, the Godhand are the elites amongst elite of the Host's warrior, each an army upon themselves. In the Apostle's absence, they defer to Harrogath, Eliphas' de-facto second in command. And now, they ached to be unleashed upon the slaves of the Golden Throne.

"Well look at that. The dome is down!" Sniggered Zakus as he bounded forward, flexing his power claws in anticipation.

"None of us are blind, Zakus. We don't need you to point out the obvious for us." Gufo barked out harshly, fiddling his neuro-whip in irritation and resisting the urge to plant his power fist in the face of the giggling, idiotic Word Bearer.

"Sometimes I wonder why my father keeps these two idiots so close to him." Harrogath murmured into the private vox between him and Daggath.

"Both of them are handy enough in a fight and unambitious enough to not start anything funny." came the Exalted Champion's reply as he ran.

"Like you? There are Brothers in the Host that questions why haven't you made Coryphaus." The Deacon asked, jokingly.

"Hardly, Harry. If I'm the Inheritor's Coryphaus now, who will be yours when you have your own Host?" Daggath replied as they reached the Imperial position and the two of them lost sight of each other in the confusion.

* * *

The Blood Raven pulled his axe free of the Word Bearer's corpse, letting the blood and pulped brain matter jetted out as the dead Space Marine toppled to the ground. Activating his jump-pack, he soared above the melee before slamming down on a cluster of cultist that is setting up an auto-cannon, flattening two of them beneath his boots before butchering the rest with fast, economical cleave of his power axe. After the shield has been down, the Word Bearer Astartes and their cultists have advanced in waves after waves on the Bastion, nearly drowning the Imperial forces under their weight of number. But as anything that is cornered and desperate, they fought back with ferocity unmatched by even khornate daemons. A series of cries and the bark of bolt-weapon alerted the warrior to the presence of traitor Astartes nearby and he propelled himself across the landscape in search of some Word Bearer to kill.

What he found did not quite meet his expectation.

The Word Bearer that was cutting through Sergeant Goran devastator squad was a whelp. From the youthful, unscarred face framed by a full head of jet black, messy hair to the almost childish glee in his eyes when he carved up guardsmen and astartes with each strikes of the power blade and each burst of the bolt pistol, not unlike a sadistic child crushing insects under his boots. His armor was the traditional crimson with silver trim of the Seventeenth Legion, adorned with tiny glyphs and blasphemous passages from the Epistle of Lorgar. The Blood Raven roared as he launched himself across the distance and barreled into the Word Bearer. The impact sending both flying but with inhuman grace, the younger chaos marine flipped himself in the air and landed gracefully on his knees, planting his sword down to the ground to steady himself.

"Finally someone worthy of killing! I was quite sick of slaughtering children. I do hope you put up a better fight than those mortals." The Word Bearer smirked. There was a genuine pleasure and excitement behind his green eyes as he spoke.

"May I know the name of the False Emperor's slave that I will kill?" he asked, unsheathing a gladius from his thigh plate.

"My name is Apollo Diomedes, Captain of the Blood Raven's Honor Guard. You just killed my battle brothers, heretic. Prepare to die." The warrior replies, clenching his gauntlet as blades protruded out from each knuckle, crackling with lightning.

"Oh? This must be my lucky day then. The Inheritor will love it when I bring you his head." The Word Bearer said, the smirk widened into a grin, his expression changed from boyish to savage as he charged, blade outstretched, towards Diomedes. The last of the Blood Ravens parried the two blades with his claw before pushing the younger marine back and follow with furious swipes of his own axe, only for the Word Bearer to dance away from being disemboweled.

"How rude of me." The Word Bearer said as he landed. "I haven't quite returned your introduction. I am Harrogath, Dark Acolyte of the 347th Host of the Seventeenth Legion, Deacon of Chaos Undivided, Son of the Inheritor. You killed my father once before. Prepare to die." He smirked before leaping forward.

"Have it your way, whelp!" Diomedes growled before launching himself forward again.

Their weapons met and parted, leaving behind sparks of energies and thick tang of ozone. The last of the Blood Raven is a veteran of millennia of combat, his every move deliberate and heavy with tactical application, if not striking directly then setting up for the next few slash and cut. The young deacon is the opposite, young and impetuous; his every strike finds opportunity and follow up immediately, caring little for defense. His cuts, parries and ripostes seem to be flowing, like a dance where his thought alone guides the two blades movements and not his opponent.

"You fight well for a whelp. I can smell the stink of new gene-seed implantation on you. You are no more than a child. Whoever you called father must be desperate." Diomedes growled as their blade clashed.

"Oh, I think you know my father all right. You cut him down on Typhon after all." A crooked grin appeared on Harrogath's as he replied and kicked the Blood Raven away before throwing his gladius at Diomedes' chest. The blade spun end over end before plunging into the older space marine's shoulder. Diomedes roared before tearing the blade out and charged towards the young deacon again, jump-pack flaring and adding into his momentum.

"How predictable." Harroth said casually as he lifted his left hand, palm facing the charging Blood Raven. With a faint click, a thin, short blade shot out from underneath his vambrace, going through the gorget of Diomedes armor before spinning and returning to the dark Acolyte's hand.

* * *

"That sure shuts you up." Harrogath said as the gladius flew back to the sheath on his thigh. He was kneeling down on the fallen Blood Raven, the ceremonial athame knife in hand and leisurely sawing through the neck muscle of the corpse that was Apollo Diomedes of the Blood Raven.

Around him, the last of the Imperial resistance was dying down. The Host had done well that day. From Daggath's report, only two of the Word Bearers had fallen due to carelessness when they stepped on a buried melta mine. The cultist took the brunt of the casualties at usual, but it is nothing that lord Eliphas cannot replenish after another raid to the numerous prison-worlds around Cadia.

"Who's that?" came a voice behind him.

Harroth turned around after finishing separating the Blood Raven's head from his body. The owner of the voice is an astartes warrior clad in the color of midnight, his power armor decorated with scripts and predictions written in a dead language from a dead world. In his hand held a double-barreled bolter, a heroic weapon passed down from a heroic lineage. On a sheath at his hip was a golden blade with angelic cross guard, its blade shown the silver of recent repair work.

"A present for my father. I think he will hang this still living, breathing head on one of the spike in our inner sanctum. Did you see this, Decimus?" Harroth replied.

"I did, Harry, I did. Why do you think I have my Claws within the enemy perimeter at that exact moment?" Decimus said, using the name that the Acolyte only allows his closest brothers to use.

"Thanks, brother. But honestly, Deci, I thought you are with the rest of you Legion, flushing out what remains of Craftworld Ulthwe." Harroth commented as they make their way back to where the Host gathered after they slaughtered the remaining of the Imperial force.

"You cutting off that throne-slave's head were not the only thing that I saw." Decimus said, hesitating whether he should continue.

"Oh? Did you see me at Terra, destroying the Golden Throne?" the dark Acolyte chuckled.

"No. The problem is, Harry, I did not see you at Terra all." The prophet of the Eight Legion replied. "I don't know what will happen, brother, but you will not partake in the final push against the Throne world."

"If I will not be at my father and brother's side in the Crusade, then where would I be?" Harroth's voice took a deeper, more inscrutable cadence as he voiced the question.

"I saw you in a different … place." Came the reluctant reply.

"What … place, Decimus? I know you are my friend, but you are really trying my patience, Night Lord."

"I don't know. I thought you would like to be warned about it, brother." Decimus said, after a few moments.

"Thank you, I guess…" Harrogath reply as he turned to address the Host.

* * *

The bloodletter's blade sailed over Harrogath's head, missing the Dark Acolyte as he dropped his weight before abruptly rose and bisect the daemon with a neat cleave of his own. The young Word Bearer then turned, impaling another bloodletter that came from behind with his power sword before sliding the blade free and leaped backward, avoiding a sharp claw from a daemonette trying to sneak behind him while he was occupied. The daemonette jumped after him, claws raised for a decapitating strike as Harrogath shot his athame knife from its sheath below his wrist, piercing the female-looking daemon's throat and knocking her back. A wash of warp flame from a trio of horrors swept towards him and the Dark Acolyte leaped again, distancing himself from the daemons.

And straight into the rising blade of another bloodletter.

The strike, however, failed to connect as the daemon's head exploded in a steaming corona of blood as a large spiked mace connected with it, sending the rest of the bloodletter flying. Barrel-rolling in mid-air, Harrogath landed on his feet, blade plunging to the ground to stabilize himself as he looked up at his savior.

"That was sloppy of you, Harry. I thought I taught you better than that." Eliphas the Inheritor, Dark Apostle of the 347th Host of the XVII Legion, smiled at his Acolyte.

"Won't happen again, father." The younger Word Bearer replied with a grin of his own.

"Good job down there with the last pylon cluster, the Warmaster sends his compliments." Eliphas said, twirling his crozius, a wickedly spiked war-mace, in his hand before ramming it at a charging daemonette. The mace ripped through the warp-creature's body, spraying warp-fire as the stricken daemon disintegrated.

"I do my job and serve the Pantheon, father." Harroth humbly replied as he spun and block the attacks of several daemons trying to hit him from behind. His blade bifurcated the daemon the same time a chain axe chewed into the warp-meat of its head.

"You are late, brother." Harroth smirked as the three Word Bearers stood back-to-back as the tide of daemons surged towards them.

A long while later

The warp mist dissolved silently, the thick purplish-crimson haze lifted to reveal a large circular platform, littered with piles of disintegrating daemon's corpses. Eliphas, Daggath and Harroth stood at the center of the carnage, smiling and panting.

"We haven't a workout like that since Boros Prime." Daggath said, picking up his power mallet from a pile of slime that was the remains of a beast of Nurgle.

"True that, and I haven't spent time with my sons for a long time too." Eliphas remarked, resting the long crozius on his right shoulder.

The Dark Apostle turned to look at Harrogath, seeing the pensive look on his Acolyte's face.

"You have something on your mind." It was not a question.

"You did not scold me when I called Abaddon "armless failure". Something is up" Harrogath replied.

Sighing, Eliphas turned towards the exit of the platform.

"Follow me, my sons, I think it's time you both know something. And no, it's not that. I know Lucius gave you two "the Talk", centuries ago."

The chamber was dark, unnaturally so. Where others walkways and quarters aboard the battle-barge _Dark Faith_ is dimly lit with primitive lume-globes and human-fat braziers, any light entering this chamber seems to be devoured by the darkness.

"There are someone I would like you two to meet." Eliphas said, putting his hands on the shoulder plates of his sons' armor.

"Who, father?" Daggath asked.

The Dark Apostle did not answer.

"Tell me, my sons, what do you know of other dimensions?" Eliphas asked them, after a few long moments.

* * *

The little girl screamed as she chased her brothers with a stick, her shoulder-length red hair flew wildly behind her.

"MOM! they turned my stuffed dragons into a spider!"

"We didn't mean to!" one of her brother said, frantically running away from the swinging stick.

"_Lies. I bet they talked about it. Laughed about it even."_ The voice in the little girls head said.

With a roar of fury, the little girl charged and swept her stick horizontally. One redhead boy toppled over as the back of his knee was struck, yelping in agony. Ignoring her felled brother, the little girl ran over him to pursue the other one. And in her mind's eye, she was holding a long glaive instead of a stick.

"_Yesss. Unleash your anger. Mow them down." _the voice in her head encouraged.

Come next morning, the young redhead did not remember hearing anything, just her punishing her brothers for their prank against her.

* * *

"Welcome back, Eliphas." The bird-head figure said, sitting on a blue sapphire throne. "I see you brought guests."

"I have, my Lords. I would venture that they are ready." The Dark Apostle and his sons dropped to one knee upon the appearance of the four figures.

"_Indeed they are. They look positively delicious._" The purplish androgynous giggled excitedly.

"_We have watched your progresses and growth, my boys. My, my you have grown strong.__" _The bloated one addressed the two younger Word Bearers, his tone fatherly and amused.

"**You have brought great glory to us, pups. But now, you have to embrace your true purpose!" **roared the last figure, his own brass armor rumbled with the pronouncement.

"And what purpose is that?" asked Harrogath, standing up and looking at all four figures in turn.

"To spread the words of the Primordial truth to other dimensions." the avian sorcerer said. "I assume Eliphas already told you of your origin, Acolyte?"

"He did."

"_The catch of inter-dimensional operation is that we can only marginally involve ourselves. That is why the Pantheon can only offer you limited support in this endeavor__._" The bloated grandfather smiled.

"_Should you succeed, however, your rewards will be exquisite, beyond any glory you could achieve here._"

"**But if you fail, your punishment will be incomprehensible!" **

"But rest assured, my child, we will not be sending you into this new dimension blind."

"_We will provide you with assets to aide you in this tremendous endeavor, Harry._"

"_But you will have to find those assets before they can be used._"

"What of my Host, my battle-brothers? I cannot bring them?" the young Acolyte asked.

"**You will rebuild your Host from scrap, Acolyte.**"

"_You will have the gene-material, and equipment you need, but only after you have convert a veritable pool of aspirant capable of wielding them._"

"_You can only requisition equipment from your home dimension. I am sure the Inheritor is more than happy to aide you"  
_

* * *

The two figures hugged each other as they watched the burning mansion.

"Why auntie? Why?" the little girl sobbed into the woman's shoulder. "Why did my parents, my brother have to die?"

"Because they are loyal, dear." The woman replies, her voice hesitant as she resist the urge to break into sobs like her niece.

"Loyal?" the girl asked.

"Loyal to their principle, loyal to their friends, loyal to their leader." Came the weary answer.

"The first is great, the second is good, the third is misguided." She added after a long moment.

"I don't understand auntie."

"Someday you will, my dear, someday you will." The Iron Witch rocked her niece gently as the last of their old life, all that is good and noble, crumbled around them.

* * *

"**You will, however, be required to complete certain objectives.**" The red armored warlord roared.

"What objectives, my lords?" Harrogath asked, his expression confused.

"_There is an institution in this new dimension called Hogwarts, my dear Acolyte._" The androgynous figure said.

"_It is built on the one and only warp rift in this dimension, where the walls between the material realm and the Warp is thin as gossamer._" The bloated being said.

"You will learn its secrets, you conquer this facility and use its power to bring the glory of the Primordial Truth to that universe." The avian sorcerer grinned.

* * *

The couple walked towards the hidden temple at the heart of the city of Light with urgency in their steps, a bundle in the woman's arms and a young girl holding the man's hand. The small bundle in the arms of the woman slept through the rushed journey while the little girl jogged at their side let out puffs of short breaths.

They were greeted by a tall, slender woman of unearthly beauty. She was wearing a sheer purple toga that despite the modest design is translucent enough to leave little for the imagination of what lays underneath.

"Is she the one?" the woman asked, looking at the small bundle in front of her.

"Your Sisters confirmed it, Priestess. But now we seek sanctuary, our enemies know of her and the power she will bring. They are close." The man said.

"I see. It is the Dark Prince's Blessing that you came to us in time, my children." The priestess led them into the building, locking the doors behind her with a swish of her hand.

They made their way into a grand sitting room when she ordered the family to take their seats as she directed a short figure.

"Blibby, bring refreshments and fetch the Count for me."

"Yes, Mistress." Came the house-elf squeaky reply before the gentle pop of his disappearance.

Turning back to the seated family, the priestess addressed them, her face grim but retains its allure.

"I can feel the power radiating from her. It will need to be bound and masked if we are to protect her, both from the enemy of our Lord and herself." The priestess told them.

"Will it hurt her?" the mother asked, fear laced in her voice.

"No, but the unbound of her power will not be easy. The one destined to use that power will need to coax it out of her when he claims her." The priestess answered.

"We understand, my Lady. We put the fate of our daughters in the Cult's hand." The father said, bowing to the priestess. The action is mirrored by his wife and elder daughter.

"And the Cult puts its fate in this tiny creature." The priestess replied, gently taking the baby girl from her mother.

"Any question, young Apostle?" the avian mage asked.

"Apostle?" Harrogath asked, confused.

"_What do you expect, my child? You are now tasked with spreading the Primordial truth, our truth to this new world. By definition, that makes you an Apostle."_ The bloated one answered.

"_Furthermore, you have the knowledge of our way ingrained in you from the past centuries in the warp. And it's not as if we have been neglecting to give you power befitting your station."_ The androgynous one smiled.

"**And use those power you shall. For the Primordial Glory!**" bellowed the red giant as the four figures disappeared in a flash of deepest crimson.

* * *

"In the name of His Holiness the Pope and the authority vested in us, we have judged you guilty of Heresy and pursuance of black witchcraft." The figure bellowed as he pointed his weapon, an ornate Glock 22 pistol with thin gold trimming and tiny cross motives embossed into every open surface at the group of people wearing blue robes in front of him. The figure wear the cassock of a Catholic cleric the color of gunmetal, with red trimming around its edges, the bulky angle of his outfit betrays the presence of body armor underneath. Around him, a platoon of soldiers, each dressed in black combat fatigue, leveled their weapons, a collection of Steyr AUG and Mk17 at the collection of people they surrounded.

The leader of the blue-clad crowd, a tall, light skinned gentlemen with an aquiline, noble face, roared in defiance.

"Ignorant Scum! Our Apostle will come and smite down your false gods. The Primordial truth cannot be silenced. You will…"

He never finished the sentence. Crack of the pistol shot stole his voice, quite literally as the bullet puncture his throat. Blood jets from the wizard's ruined throat as he flopped down to the ground, dead in moments as he choked on his own blood.

"Father!" a small figure clutched the felled corpse, sobbing.

"Compose yourself, girl!" her mother said, her voice trying to be firm but shaking in the face of certain death. "Your father will not die in vain!"

"Oh yes little witch. Don't you worry. I will be sending you all with him soon enough. But first, I guess I have to "purify" you first." The priest face stretched into a nasty grin.

The grin lasted exactly a second before the young girl let out a frightened screech and the priest and some fo the soldiers were knocked back by an invisible wall of force. Getting up, they raised their weapons towards the crying girl, still clutching her father's corpse.

"You'll pay for that, little bitch!" the priest snarled. "I will enjoy breaking you!"

Then they hear the first crack.

The left side of the priest's face is bathed in a sudden shower of blood and brain matter as head of the soldier on his immediate left exploded. The priest toppled over as a large fragment of the dead soldier's skull stabbed through his cheek. Recovering a second later, he raised his pistol and looked to the source of fire while yelling out orders to the remaining soldiers.

"KILL THEM! KILL THEM NOW!"

Then he realized that the whole platoon of Elite Papal Guard that followed him was reduced to hunks of pulped carcasses. Some of the corpses miss their heads; others have bodies cut into two by some forms of explosion or some oversized blade.

Then he saw their killers.

The two figures were giants. Not the real giants that he learned of during the briefings about magical creatures, but giants nonetheless. Their thick, imposing armor is the color of dark crimson, trimmed with gunmetal grey and decorated with tiny, tiny lines of text written in some form of dead language. One of them, the taller one, held a gigantic axe with serrated edge. Upon closer look, the priest realized that the serrated edge was a track of sharp teeth, like the cutting side of a chains saw. The other giant, clearly the leader judging from the more ornately decorated armor, held a peculiar war-mace of the deepest black. The weapon is formed by a long metallic haft ending in a black globe formed from looping and concentric black circles, with lethal spikes adorning their outside surface. They both carried large pistols on their other hands, still smoking from the silent barrage earlier.

In an eye blink, the priest found himself lifted into the air by invisible hands grabbing his neck and hoisted him up before the giants, who were now standing next to the young girl and her father's corpse.

The shorter giant, still a head and a half taller than the priest himself, looked at him with an amusement a person might have for an insect that was about to be crushed underfoot. His face is youthful and handsome, thin and noble. His hair is jet black and unruly, his eye a piercing green of the purest emerald. Those same orbs held a zeal and fervor that burns brighter than suns.

"I may be new here." The giant said, his voice a soft baritone, which reminds him of some of the higher ranked Bishops of his Order when they gave sermons. "But I could see false faith shrouding you like a stinky cloak, priest."

"Who are you?" the priest managed to squeaked out.

"A servant of a higher power. Not that your kind could understand such power." the warrior replied.

"Normally I would hurl you back to your masters, making you an announcement of my coming, a promise of their annihilation. But the time now is not right." He added.

"But you will have your uses, don't you worry. Your death will be a long time coming. Consider yourself honored to be the first sacrifice to the Pantheon."

Then everything faded to black.

* * *

**And that's it for the first chapter. Our young Dark Apostle is home.**

**Please read and review to encourage this humble writer to write faster.**

**Question for you to ponder: Who do you think are the four little girls? (Hint (not really a hint): they are not OCs)**

**P.S: I am in need of a beta for one or all of my work. If you have the time and the inclination, please PM me.**

**Enjoy your summer.**


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